


You Found Me

by 80spopicon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Death, M/M, One Direction Tours, One Shot, Self Harm, Suicide, The X Factor Era, larry stylinson - Freeform, x factor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/80spopicon/pseuds/80spopicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em> “I’ve been calling,</em><br/>for years and years and years and years.”<br/>Based on the song You Found Me by The Fray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Found Me

_“Where were you,  
when everything was falling apart?” _

Harry can feel the world rushing, rushing, rushing. His feet struggle to carry him forwards. Why can’t everything slow down, why can’t it all just stop, for a second, for a heartbeat? All he needs is to catch his breath. All he needs is a moment, a single moment, to breathe. The fame, the fortune; why isn’t it enough? Because he isn’t him anymore, because Louis isn’t his anymore.

The day the band is put together, he is full of excitement, anticipation, he is eager, overjoyed. Where did that Harry go?  
Right before the first performance, he makes himself a promise, a vow. “Don’t let them change you,” he whispers, facing the mirror in the dressing room, staring at the ‘new him’; the Harry with the haircut, the Harry that has fans and fame, the Harry whose face now has a layer of makeup, applied especially for him by the shows stylist. “They can change your appearance, but they can’t change your heart, right?”  
He feels foolish and cheesy, abruptly blushing at his words. Being a celebrity, a popstar, can’t make him a different person - it can’t ruin him. Can it?

A few months on and he already feels a whole world away from the Harry that sent off his X Factor audition form. Everyone loves him – everyone loves One Direction. The interviews, the photo-shoots, the performances, the parties - they never stop. He’s a hundred miles away from home and a million miles away from the boy he used to be.  
He spends his waking hours with the four others he has only known for a short amount of time, and they cling to each other, like air, like water, like oxygen. He needs them – he needs Louis - but he doesn’t know that yet. Everything is spiraling out of control.

_“I’ve been calling,  
for years and years and years and years.” _

A year later and he is tired, he is weak, he is lonely. Can anyone be lonely on a stage surrounded by a thousand screaming people, he wonders? One look towards the boy with the blue eyes and feathered brown fringe confirms this and he itches to press another blade to his skin.  
No one knows. Not even the four boys he has come to call his brothers. Only Louis can save him, he is sure of that. Why doesn’t he notice?  
He is calling out for help, screaming for attention. All he gets is attention, but not from who he wants. All he can hear is the squeals of pre-teen girls, ‘Harry, we love you!’, ‘Marry me, Harry!’, ‘You’re so beautiful!’.  
They are not what he needs; they’re not even what he wants anymore. He feels guilty. He loves his fans, he truly, truly does. But they don’t know him. They can’t offer comfort and promises and love. They can’t wrap their warm arms around him and keep him safe and hold him against them and protect him.  
All he wants is Louis. All he wants is to fall, endlessly, into the cerulean blue of his eyes, feel Louis’ chest move up and down with each breath as he rests his head on him, his curls splaying out around him on Louis’ soft, tanned skin. But Louis doesn’t want him, Louis doesn’t love him. He loves her.  
And so another scar is added to his wrist, another reminder of the darkness and envy and pain that has become his life.

_“The only one who’s ever known,_  
who I am,  
who I’m not, who I want to be.” 

He remembers the first time he ever saw Louis; Harry is in the bathroom before his audition, crying and anxious and nervous and there Louis is, always his comforting angel. Louis doesn’t judge him, he doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t walk away. He consoles him, reassures him, tells him he’ll be great and do his family proud. Oh, if only it could be like that now, Harry laughs bitterly. They take a picture that day: the picture that he keeps in his wallet. Three years later and it’s still there.

He remembers the nights Louis makes him move up in his bunk in the room they all shared, and then on their tour bus, when Louis shoves him over to crawl in with him. He holds his hand and curls up to his side in the middle of the night, their legs tangling together. Those are the best and worst moments of Harry’s life – marveling at how close they are, elated at the feel of Louis’ skin on his, but still, aching to touch him more, to kiss him. They whisper to each other, tell each other secrets, hopes and dreams, but never - never - does Harry let his biggest secrets slip. He will never - can never - let Louis know.  
And so, he continues to dance in rehearsals, sing in the recording booth, lie awake on the tour bus and live with this anguish. And so, scars continue to appear on his thighs, on his hips and his skin is marred and broken. And so, still, Louis continues not to notice.

And so, now, in this bathroom, in this hotel room, while Louis is on yet another date with her, he presses the blade against his skin and into his skin, dragging down. His eyes squeeze shut. The sharp pain blocks out everything else in the room, everything else in the world; every sound, every breath, every thought that is focused on his best friend, his love. All he can feel is the cold metal against his flesh, and the stream of blood that follows. His tears mix with the red, swirling, swirling, swirling down the sink and on the tiles. His legs eventually give way. His breathing is shallow, quick, erratic. 

Where is he? Where is Louis?

He is sobbing, silently now, going cold. The metal is limp in his hand. He aches and aches for those arms around him, he longs for Louis. Louis is the one who can help him; he is the one that is always there. Louis is the one that is always constant in this messy, spinning life Harry calls his own. Louis is the one.

He can see the face of his only love, smiling and happy and shining. But the joy and adoration isn’t aimed at him, it’s never aimed at him. Only her.

_“Lost and insecure,_  
you found me, you found me.  
Lying on the floor,  
where were you, where were you?” 

Everything is fuzzy and dull now, his breathing is slow. From far away he hears the closing of a door and the sound of footsteps and someone calling his name.  
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he hears. So far away.  
Louis, Louis, Louis, he replies. Always Louis.  
But Louis can’t hear him. Louis can never hear him.

He is sure there is the sound of a choked out cry, and warm hands on his skin now, but it’s faint and he is lost without Louis. He is falling, falling, falling. 

_“Lying on the floor,_  
surrounded, surrounded.  
Why’d you have to wait?  
Where were you, where were you?” 

Louis’ throat is raw from crying and his lungs ache for air. Harry is surrounded by blood, so he surrounds him with his arms instead, pulling him in, clutching and holding him, as if his whole life is now contained in the boy on the floor - fragile and broken and wrecked. All he can see is blood, red and everywhere, deep and threatening. The ambulance is on its way. He struggles to fill himself with oxygen as his tears fall into Harry’s curls. He needs Harry to be okay, he needs him to be fine, he needs him to be alive, he needs him.

There is something in Harry’s limp hand, he recognizes it as the picture from all those years ago, when Harry and he first met. Harry’s blood caked fingers curling over it, loose but protective. The guilt overwhelms him. Was this… his fault? He brings Harry closer and a strangled sob fills the air. 

_“Just a little late,_  
you found me, you found me.  
Why’d you have to wait,  
to find me, to find me?” 

Harry is going cold, so cold, but he can feel Louis, he can feel his love and he smiles, in his mind at least. Why is he here now? Why couldn’t he have been here his whole life? He found him, though. Louis found Harry. And that’s enough. 

_"Just a little late,  
you found me, you found me.” _

"I love you, Harry. I’ll always love you." A whisper is softly spoken into Harry’s cheek; Louis’ final promise. 

_"Why’d you have to wait,  
to find me, to find me?” _


End file.
